


All Hail The Heartbreaker

by parsleylion



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: Abuse, Angst, M/M, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 16:02:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12302643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parsleylion/pseuds/parsleylion
Summary: It’s just a heart. That’s all it is. I used to think that it was yours and that you’d given it to me to keep but now as I look down at my arm and trace my finger over the black outline on my inner wrist, I come to realise that it was nothing like that.





	All Hail The Heartbreaker

**Author's Note:**

> a/n - written for challenge nine at graffiti decoration challenge; ‘the tattoo challenge’

It’s just a heart. That’s all it is. I used to think that it was yours and that you’d given it to me to keep but now as I look down at my arm and trace my finger over the black outline on my inner wrist, I come to realise that it was nothing like that. It didn’t mean anything to you, it was nothing more than a heart shape etched onto my skin by your own fair hand.

  
  


So why does it hurt so much?

  
  


I’ll tell you why; because I’m an idiot, I’m insane and I’m everything my Mother said I’d turn out to be; useless and foolish. Simply put, it hurts so much because I’m fucked up. I followed my heart and just like every other time, I ended up getting hurt. Head over heart is what my Mother always told me. Those were her last words as she flung herself off the balcony of the apartment we lived in when I was ten years old and starting to realise that the world was a very cruel place. She didn’t want me to make the mistakes she’d made and fall for some man who was going to take my heart and tear it into tiny pieces, very much the way my Father did to hers.

  
  


Well guess what? I failed her. Big time.

  
  


The first time I saw you across the street I knew I shouldn’t even start to think about you like  _that_. You were everything I was warned about; loud, confident and so fucking beautiful. I was everything that you’d like to play about with, wasn’t I? Sixteen, innocent and naïve. You were what I wanted and I was a pleasant interruption to your life. So why the hell I followed you home that night I do not know but somehow after the draining day I’d had at school I couldn’t help but notice you, leaning against the store marked  _Club Tattoo_  in leather pants and black shirt. You were blowing smoke rings into the clear blue sky, talking obnoxiously loud on your cell and suddenly walking down the street. I had emptiness to go home to and somehow my feet were following you instead and before I knew it, following you home became a daily occurrence. You lived miles away from me, ten blocks in the other direction and every night after I watched you swagger down your gravel driveway I’d turn away with the image of you and your body in my mind. Home didn’t feel so lonely after that. The nights didn’t feel so empty because instead of staring up into oblivion, I was falling into the deepest dreams about you.

  
  


I think I was infatuated by lust, right?

  
  


It took almost six months for me to pluck up the courage to talk to you. That’s what living alone for the best part of five years does to you; it takes away your confidence, your ability to open your mouth and talk. School was almost over for summer and I spent the whole afternoon practicing what to say. You were there as ever, four thirty and just leaving the store. I walked across the street and barged right into you, you fell to the floor and I was there holding out my hand and apologising profusely. You smiled and took my hand, everything was going swimmingly well. I pulled you up and introduced myself, I told you I’d seen you around and you smiled at me, spoke your name before letting go of my hand and turning to walk off. I was all for giving up. I’d blown my chance but then you turned and winked at me.

  
  


_Chester_. I didn’t stop dreaming all night.

  
  


I skipped school the next day. Instead of daydreaming about you in lessons I was sitting in the coffee bar opposite Club Tattoo, a cappuccino my sole companion as I gazed out of the window. You were sitting behind a white counter with a sketchbook, oblivious to the world around you as your pencil clutching hand moved deftly across its pages. I wondered what you were drawing, found myself needing to know so badly. The waitress came by and took my empty cup away. I think that’s the point my cover was blown. A bus passed down the road and when I glanced over you were no longer sitting in the window, the sign in the door had been flipped over to  _closed_. Great. I was all for leaving, when a blonde haired guy came and sat down in the booth opposite me. You.

  
  


_Buy me a coffee_. You grinned.  _That will make up for almost killing me yesterday._

  
  


You were probably the first adult who didn’t talk to me as though I was an infant. We drank coffee and ate blueberry muffins. I fell in love with you as you shook chocolate over your cappuccino and stirred in six spoonfuls of sugar. You said you’d seen  _me_  around and I smiled bashfully. You looked impressed when I told you I would rather be sitting with coffee and a good book than being bored to death by mundane facts at school. You never asked my age, not until you announced you’d have to get back to work before your boss killed you. I was in two minds whether to tell you and when I uttered  _sixteen_  you did look somewhat surprised. Can’t say I wasn’t honest though, can you?

  
  


No, it looks like I left all the lies to you.

  
  


At first I thought I’d blown it. Final week of school and you were never around. First week of the summer break and I biked to the coffee shop with my latest Poppy Z. Brite book in my bag. As I found myself being drawn into her warm world of New Orleans I failed to notice that the door behind me had opened and that a sun kissed, brown haired man was sitting down in front of me with two coffees. Glancing up from my book it took a second to realise that it was you and your hair was freshly dyed and your eyes were sparkling with a smile.  _Hey_ , you said and pushed one of the coffees toward me. Your eyes caught the title of my book and that was it, you were wanting to know what else was in my satchel and what other books I read. For once in my life  _someone_  was interested in  _me._

  
  


I think that whole notion went to my head. To think that you were slightly interested is laughable now.

  
  


At first we met every other day. By the following week I practically lived inside that coffee house. You’d stop by during your lunch break and we talked each other inside out. Looking back it was you asking about me and maybe that’s why I fell so hard. Someone taking interest in me was novel. Walks on the beach followed, strolls in the park and brushing of fingertips proceeded. Three weeks passed and you pushed me against the wall at the back of the coffee house, lips crashing against mine, hands against my hips.  _I’m past caring that I’m ten years older_ , you uttered. And so followed chaste kisses and longing looks. My books were forgotten and the coffee house neglected. I spent my days with you, watching you draw, listening to your tales of life, falling deeper still.

  
  


Falling. I fell for a lot, didn’t I?

  
  


Summer almost over and two months in your company, I followed you inside Club Tattoo, two take out coffees and a bagel in your clutch. You shut the door behind and waved to your boss. He smiled and winked, muttered something crude. I blushed, followed you through to the back room, sterile smelling and full of tattoo designs which lined every wall. I’d never thought of getting a tattoo until you had me sitting in a chair and were loading up the ink gun. A whirring sound chimed in my ears and you pushed my legs apart, wheeled your chair between them as your gloved hands wiped over the inside of my wrist.  _Ready?_  You asked me several times and I smiled, nodded my head. I felt like you were cutting me open, felt like my entire insides were stinging but the pain ebbed away as I gazed at you, the way your eyes seemed to be concentrating so very hard. You finally looked up, tore off your gloves and kissed me gently on the lips.

  
  


A heart. A single black heart. It meant the world to me.

  
  


So why did you have to ruin everything yesterday?

  
  


Our last day together before I was meant to start school again. Lying on the couch in the lounge at the back of Club Tattoo, you said;  _let’s do something special_. We rolled around, lips locked; hands wondering under clothes and gently sliding them off. Before I realised I was naked, we were on the floor and it’s only when I felt your fingers easing inside me that I began to panic. This wasn’t how I wanted it. Not now, not here on some dirty carpet in the back of a tattoo parlour. I writhed beneath you, tried to push you away but all of sudden you were strong and assertive; you were a twenty six year old man and I was a stupid, naïve little boy.  _Please_ , I whimpered thinking that you’d slow down.  _Please_ , I begged, thinking you’d not heard me.  _Stop_ , I shrieked as you pushed my legs further apart.  _No_ , I shouted as your hand clamped over my mouth. Suddenly there was someone else in the room too.  _Help, they’ve come to help._

  
  


Now it all comes back to me being useless and foolish.

  
  


It was Dave your boss and his hands were holding down my struggling arms. A heinous laugh and I felt myself gagging as Dave wrapped one arm around my neck. I blinked back tears, somehow found my eyes focusing on you; brown hair spiked into perfection, deep eyes glaring at me as you pulled out your fingers, replaced them with something I wanted yet not  _now_ ; yourself. I cried out. Suddenly I didn’t recognise the man whose hands were digging into my hips as you thrust inside me with no care, no thought. Gone was the beautiful man who’d told me amazing stories and listened with intent to my youthful words. Gone was the man I’d fallen in love with who’d hugged and kissed me, made me feel worthwhile.

  
  


Gone.

  
  


I could barely breathe by the time you’d finished. Dave was fidgeting behind me as you pulled out and started to dress like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. The arms around me didn’t let go until you chucked my clothes over and said maybe you’d see me around. You laughed and said you were relocating to New York, so maybe you wouldn’t. More laughs chided me, echoed inside my mind as I dressed and wiped away my tears. You and Dave were sitting on the couch, drinking bud and lighting up cigarettes.  _I can’t believe you went through with that_ , Dave exclaimed, eyeing me up,  _I can’t believe I gambled my Condo in Brooklyn for that_. Chester smirked as Dave passed him a set of keys,  _Well you did. A deal’s a deal and I fucked the boy. New York, here I come._

  
  


I never ran so fast in my life. Blood was dripping from between my legs yet I crashed through Club Tattoo, across the street, around the corner, kept on going until I reached home; a sleeping bag in an empty shop doorway. I’d left my satchel; my books, my only belongings at the Tattoo Parlour and as I stood in the doorway of what used to be Bert’s Books, I found myself sinking to the floor, tears racking my body as I collapsed in hysterics. I didn’t sleep that night. I stared up at the sky and lost my mind.

  
  


You weren’t going to get away with it though. It’d happened before. My heart had been broken by my parents, by so called friends. It just so happens that you were going to be the last person that did it. Brushing myself off this morning I found myself standing outside Club Tattoo. Dave didn’t look like he expected to see me. He won’t see me again though because right now he’s lying dead in a pool of his own blood. I knew that switchblade my Father left me would come in handy. It felt pretty nice to force it into the back of his head. Not as nice as it felt when I was pushing it into your heart though Chester.

  
  


No, that was fucking blissful.

  
  
  


**END.**


End file.
